


A Collection of Kisses

by justsomewords



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:26:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomewords/pseuds/justsomewords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randomized prompts for various characters. Ratings vary greatly, some gen, some smut. Length varies greatly, 480~1075 words. Features heavy themes (violence, coercion, unspecified age/implied underage).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Established (ViTri - Teen+)

"Virus, no! Virus! Virus, stop!"

The protests grew louder and louder, reaching a near screeching crescendo as the boy thrashed on the mattress. To anyone loitering outside their door, it would surely sound like an assault.

Truthfully, it was.

The older blond had him pinned down, wrists by his ears, nose pressed under the edge of his jaw. His slightly uneven teeth nipped at the sensitive flesh of his neck, giving the boy renewed vigor with each tiny bite. His voice was hoarse from disuse and exertion, throat dry and sore.

It was hard to deny the sadistic pleasure that Virus took in making him squeal like this. His hips bucked beneath him but he would not be dislodged. His arms struggled to break free but could not escape his bony grasp. Trip was at his mercy, and he would not deny how much he loved each passing moment of it.

"Please, Virus!" he pleaded, tears in his eyes, lips pulled into a wide, pained grin. He’d passed the point of giggling protest and begged earnestly for his release. Virus merely chuckled and continued his attack, switching sides as the younger boy thrashed, seeking any inch of exposed flesh on his neck.

They had been at this for at least five minutes, and it would likely go on at least five minutes more. It wasn’t the first time and it assuredly wouldn’t be the last. It was part of their ritual, a pleasurable punishment for the unruly boy that followed him around when he'd gone too far.

In truth, it was just an excuse. He’d grown so much since they’d become so intertwined, and Virus could not help the pangs of desire that needled him now and then. The hotheaded ginger had become quite a striking blond and his round, pouty face had elongated into something that could pass easily for handsome. This was just an excuse to be physical, to smell and taste him, to feel him writhe and react to every touch. It was a free sample without obligation. It was a way to test the waters.

Trip would never stop him, just beg and plead and bargain as best he could for release. He wouldn't know that Virus idly wanted to hear all of this in a different context. He put on a lovely show and seeded so many idle daydreams in the older boy’s head. Daydreams Virus would fight to one day experience properly, though not without a bottle of wine.

He would still collapse next to him, breathless and satiated, when that time arrived. He would still pepper a few threatening kisses along Trip’s jaw. He would curl up against him and tangle together. They would talk breathlessly about everything other than what had occurred. It would become routine.

One thing was for certain: intimacy had been established.

And Virus could not be happier.


	2. Exchange (TouTri - Explicit)

It would be wrong to say that Trip liked his boss. He hated the way he smiled and put on his most charming tone when dealing with people. He hated how unfazed he seemed, even in the face of disaster. He hated that it seemed impossible to get him to care about anything at all, while at the same time he saw only that his own needs were being catered to. 

Such was the case now, as Trip’s head bobbed in his lap, his fingers twisted in his shaggy blond hair. Toue was not about to turn down the offer he’d made, since it seemed only to benefit them both. It had been a gamble, but one that had paid off.

At least, Trip hoped it would. 

Virus was old enough to leave the flock, well-trained and ready to be given proper assignments outside their compound. The fear of being forcibly separated had flowed through his veins like ice and he’d sought to ensure his own release at earliest convenience. He wouldn’t linger on the thought of Virus celebrating this moment apart, or how perhaps he had been celebrating their potential permanent separation. Each time it came to mind, he pushed it away with a soft growl, taking the older man’s cock deep into his throat. This seemed to bring some satisfaction to his elder, the backs of his fingertips brushing the boy’s cheek fondly as he worked.

His words were maddening and Trip fought to block them out. He seemed amused and puzzled, losing himself to his musings and arousal now and then. The more he spoke, the angrier the boy became, convinced more and more that no one could ever understand them. Could never understand why he needed to be released into Virus’ care. Why he would sooner die than be abandoned here to his fate.

Toue was a great believer in fate and, truthfully, he had long since decided to let them depart together, though he had not given them the explicit permission yet. It seemed like there was some great purpose that had drawn them together despite their rocky outset. No one had been able to control Trip before Virus slipped silently into his life, and no one had been able to since.

Until now.

Until the problem child could finally be threatened into submission.

Trip could feel his cock twitch in his mouth and nearly gagged in disgust. It had to be over soon. It just had to. He had been trained to please only one person, but please him he did. He worked him tirelessly with fingers and tongue, whining softly in a way that could easily be mistaken for arousal. 

Then, there it was. The salty end to a bitter meeting. He withdrew a bit too quickly, taking the last jet of semen to the cheek, squinting one eye in fear of it being too close. The older man encouraged him, seeming as cheerful as Trip was despondent. He gave his answer.

He never heard the words spoken to him as Toue gently dabbed his cheek with his monogrammed handkerchief. He never saw his easy, charming smile as he talked. The world blurred around him, the air turned to static. He felt, once again, alone.

Virus would never know about this meeting, both for fear of shame and revelation. Trip stood before him only briefly, the taste of come still sticking to the back of his throat. He escaped shortly thereafter, assured of his own failure by the lack of conviction in those words.

"We will see."


	3. Salirophilia (TriTaka - Explicit)

There was something undeniably attractive about destroying a well put-together man. He craved seeing those around him that were so carefully polished and pristine torn down and broken apart, clothing askew and every hair out of place. It was even more fun when he was the cause.

The man before him had submitted willingly, at least at first. He allowed himself to be paraded around by his tie, dragged into the office Trip and Virus shared. The latter was absent, though the cause was unknown. It came as no surprise to Trip, so it may have even been planned.

It didn’t matter much that the door was locked, since neither wanted an intruder on their playtime. The glorified secretary had been pushed up on the desk, sending papers crumpling and writing utensils rolling in his wake. The keyboard slid off the edge with a clatter but the blond seemed completely unfazed.

It had been a flurry of lips and teeth, deft fingers and strong arms. It was a practiced attack, meant to overwhelm and disarm, and it seemed to work flawlessly against the older man. Trip had pulled off his tie with relish and somewhere around the fourth hickey, he’d bound Takahashi’s arms behind his back with it.

His erection was swiftly discovered with a press of the younger man’s knee, and he ground against it with endless taunting. His own cock was quickly removed from his eye-gougingly patterned slacks, full and hard in his hand. He worked it as he spoke, mouth pressed hotly to his poor captive’s ear, purring and hissing horrible promises of things to come.

It was strange how non-physical it was, for how physical Trip tended to be. Once restrained and disheveled, he seemed to lose interest in touching the assistant, save for the knee he rested his weight on which remained wedged tightly against his bulge. The damp spots that began to show on the dark fabric were enough for him. Takahashi was not going to be tended to.

The build-up had been swift and his orgasm nearly swifter. Before long, his soft, husky groans were all that graced the secretary’s ear, foretelling of his fate seconds before it arrived. The thick, sticky trails of cum on his chest were hard to mistake as they hit the swatch of skin left exposed by his open shirt. His aim wasn’t bad, even with how his eyes bored into the older man’s, refusing to miss a moment of his reaction.

There was beauty in destruction, and Trip would be the first to note it. As Takahashi protested, the blond snapped photos of him, legs akimbo, the silhouette of his erection stark in his slacks and a lovely pearl necklace dripping down his pale skin. His glasses rested lopsidedly on his nose at an adorable angle the younger man took an extra moment to photograph.

Those photographs were sent summarily to Virus, bearing the simple message that a gift had been left for him in the office. In the meantime, Takahashi would be left there in the dark, awkwardly aroused and bound by his own tie atop their desk, the terrible feeling of drying cum paired perfectly with the sensation of humiliation.

At least he was getting paid.


	4. What Is His (Shiroba & Trip - Mature)

It was something new. Something he had never seen before. Something he had never imagined before. Something he now craved terribly.

They said it was not unlike Sly had been, the strange essence of the creature that dwelled deep within that which had been known as Seragaki Aoba. It was a creature that did not deny its nature, that reveled in it instead, that walked through the halls and left silence and unease in its wake. It was a creature made to destroy.

There was a hole that he had left in their lives. For Trip, it was Sly Blue that left the biggest hole. For Virus, it had been Aoba himself. In the end, they had both been robbed of their treasure and instead there stood this ethereal beast of beauty and fear.

They knew what he was, though. They knew what happened every day, deep in the darkest parts of the Oval Tower. They saw how he tenderly touched his wounds, how his too-pale skin proudly bore the bruises. They knew who put them there. They knew he cherished each one.

Virus had been almost in mourning when he’d come to be, finding it quite a shame that he was nothing like the facets they’d seen and desired. Trip, however, saw something else. He saw a glimmer of a promise, the potential for satisfaction. Somebody he used to know.

It was different, and he knew that. It was different and he told himself not to test this creature’s tolerance. It was different but he needed to know how difference. He needed to know whether or not he could claim this creature and take back one of the few constants he’d had.

It had been a whirl of white and red, the seemingly passive phantom turning on him the moment his fingers brushed its hair. It had been swift and harsh, the wind had been knocked straight from his lungs and the red-clad knee pinned him to the wall by his solar plexus. The larger man shivered and gasped for breath, its pigmentless eyes boring directly into his soul.

It smiled, arching slightly as it recognized him, the form of an echo long since silenced in its mind. His nails scratched lightly at the wall behind him, unwilling to lay a hand on this thing that held him fast, trembling with each ragged breath.

It had leaned up to his ear, humming and sighing to him, tugging at his earring with its teeth. What pretty poison lay on its lips, whispered against the shell of his ear in hot breaths. The tone was right but the words were all wrong.

He regretted it all.

It cooed so sweetly at him, digging its knee further into him as it spoke. He could’ve easily toppled it, could’ve easily spilled it in a cascade of white fabric back against the polished marble floor. He would not dare.

Days of sweet sin were recalled upon his ears, promises of mutually assured destruction and mornings black and blue. It knew him more intimately than he cared for, and soon enough its claws were buried deep inside him, wrenching at feelings long since buried and condemned.

It knew he’d felt something for that ‘other’ one. For the one who thought it wanted the ultimate destruction, the ultimate pleasure. For the one who could only graze the surface of depravity, could only mime the motions for so long and hollowly accept only the meagerest of torments.

It promised it was better than that ‘other’ one. The one he’d been searching for. The one he was sorely mistaken in provoking to-day. It promised that it could endure whatever he wished, that each horror was only foreplay, that each new whim was mundane and uninspired. It could draw him out of himself like no one ever had. It could destroy barriers he didn’t know held him back. It promised so much with its bone-white hand gripping him roughly through his slacks.

It could do all of these things, but it wouldn’t.

It belonged to someone else.

It did not appreciate his approach.

The teeth at his neck and jaw dragged and sunk, sending him shivering against the wall, choked sounds in his throat. It closed its mouth over his Adam’s apple, biting down and inspiring a beautiful panic within the blond. Only then did he resist it, reflexively tearing himself away, thick arms shoving it away roughly.

It was poetry in motion, pirouetting effortlessly on a single foot, the other swiftly coming up to connect with the back of his neck. The foot caught him, wrenching him down onto the floor and pressing roughly between his shoulderblades. It perched atop him, twisting down to purr just over his head.

_Don’t touch what is his again._

And then it was gone, padding as softly as a cat down the hall toward the stairs, exhilarated and ready to spend its evening alone with its lover.

Trip lay in a ragged heap on the floor, head spinning, bleeding freely from where the thing had sunk in its teeth, the undeniable brand of its love at the edge of his jaw.


	5. Pierced (SlyTri + Virus - Mature)

It was a momentary fancy, certainly, that had lead Sly to insist Trip pierce his nipples. It sounded good, in their drug-fueled haze, to do it. Sly insisted that Trip would be able to do it without much fuss, unworried and eager. That sentiment had carried through as they looted the blond’s jewelry box, looking through countless old, unused pieces that could serve until they were sober enough to go to a shop for something more suitable.

Trip had wordlessly fetched a candlestick from their living room, passing Virus without acknowledgement. The older blond watched him as he went, a single pale brow raised. He knew from their giggling and the vague sounds of messes being made that they were high and had left them to it, curled on the couch with a bottle of wine and a book instead. There were dozens of reasons he could want such a thing, and he wasn’t about to break his immersion completely to find out which it would be.

They had amassed all they thought they would need within a few minutes, echoing each other back and forth on what each thing was and why it was required. Sly was impatient to begin and urged him onward, even as they discovered they were missing a needle with which to make the puncture itself. The blond would fetch it, going over their amassed mess of tools again out loud as he did.

There were shots for bravery and for luck, and both had soon enough removed their clothes, just in case. In case of what, neither was quite sure, but they rarely needed much excuse to lounge together in the buff. Trip pressed him back onto the bed, hands on his knees as he stooped down to suck lightly on Sly’s nipple. It stood to reason that they would have to be erect to be properly pierced, after all, and it seemed like as good a way to ensure it as any.

While not nearly as sensitive to such stimulus as a girl may be, the blue haired boy could not stop from squirming as Trip’s tongue and teeth urged his nipple erect. It wasn’t the only thing that became erect, however. His fingers insistently drew the blond’s against his cock, mumbling an excuse that it would make things easier.

In truth, it rather complicated the sterilization of the needle and nipple, though he would not relent until it came time to pierce. Trip prepared the needle on one side and a pink eraser on the other, Sly gripping his own cock tightly in sudden apprehension.

The moment the needle pricked him, he recoiled, yelling suddenly to wait. The yakuza sighed loudly, following him backward as he sprawled out on the bed to escape. He squirmed, having second thoughts, and instead insisted that Trip go first.

Trip, who had never considered getting a piercing aside from his ears, seemed dissatisfied with such a decision. He consented only when his own cock was stroked, Sly’s low, purring voice urging him onward in his ear.

Virus would find them bleeding and covered in pin-pricks and scratches, a small burnt patch still smoldering on the bed from their forgotten candle, wax dripping from both person and upholstery. It was hard to imagine how this had come to pass, save that it was Sly and Trip, and that these sorts of things tended to happen when they were left without supervision.

Despite all attempts, not a single nipple was properly pierced, much to Sly’s disappointment.

There was always next time.


	6. Tactile (KouTri - Explicit)

The blindfold was a wonderful, oft-overlooked tool for those wishing to submit themselves to absolute pleasure. Cuffs and collars and chains were nice, but overdone, silk rope and silk ties equally mundane. The best restraint was fear and anticipation, uncertainty and lust entwined. That is what held the barber fast in his place, his lips parted slightly in unease, hands out slightly by his hips.

It was hard to say which of them was the one he heard, polished shoes clicking softly nearby before dying out. There was no sound to decipher them by, no sigh or errant chuckle to designate who had approached. Without relativity, there was no way to tell whose fingers plucked at his obi and guided his kimono off his shoulders.

There was a faint blush in his cheeks under the edge of the mask, the half-hard lump of his cock in his pants more than he expected at such minor provocation. They had had a few drinks, they were undeniable and he was helpless to resist their allure. This game, though, was new and exciting to them all, and his shame would soon be on full display for everyone to see.

He strained for any hint as to who was undressing him, guiding his cock out for a gentle, teasing lick. He shivered in response, the flushed head already sensitive and yearning to be caressed by palm or tongue. His shoulders swayed backward, making contact with the wall and bracing beneath him as his hips arched forward.

The soft gasps the unknown blond made around his cock were little to go by but he fought for any feedback at all to place him. He hadn’t had enough of either to discern them by their raw technique, especially with how his head swam with arousal and chills twisted down through his stomach toward his groin.

But… maybe…

As if sensing his brimming epiphany, the blond sucked harder against him, taking his cock in as deeply as his throat would allow. A groan escaped his lips before he could stifle it, raw and wanton. His hips pressed forward, needing the warm, wet depths to draw it ever further inside.

The more intently he was fellated, the more unsteady he became, the muscles of his legs tensing intermittently as he rocked forward. The hand that worked at his base never stayed in contact long enough for him to judge its size. Nothing was enough. He hated to admit it, but each near complete piece of information gave him a thrill to lose, the anonymity arousing in ways he never expected.

It wasn’t until he was about to come, breathing harshly and raggedly, that he was certain, without a doubt, as to whose wonderful mouth was bringing him to climax. He couldn’t contain himself, fingers twisting in short, blond tresses to ensure a proper finish. The hair was roughly textured, in need of a hot oil treatment and a better daily conditioner. Hair that was well treated and stripped nearly to the breaking point.

Trip’s hair.

He nearly said his name aloud but his orgasm caught the better of him, turning the first sound into a long, shuddering groan. His hips bucked forward and his cock twitched and swelled in the blond’s throat, shooting hot, thick jets of cum inside him. He swallowed with great relish, pulling him nearly out of his mouth to swirl his tongue along the slit, coaxing every drop he could out.

Koujaku’s ragged breath matched his flushed, overwhelmed and aroused visage, spent in ways he’d never considered. All the time he spent in the same spot, unrestrained and yet chained in place without his sight. He tried to clear his throat to speak but as soon as the blond had released his softening cock, his lips pressed to the hairdresser’s. They were full and soft, undeniably Trip’s, and he could smell and taste himself as their tongues intertwined.

Without a word, he retreated, his shoes clicking on the marble floor. Though he was being seemingly abandoned, the barber did not move, alert even when coated the glaze of post-orgasmic bliss that muffled his senses.

Despite that, it was impossible to miss the soft, husky chuckle as it fell against his ear, announcing that the second round was about to begin.


	7. Just One Taste (TriAo - Teen+)

It was so very, very nice when Aoba consented to their advances. It was different now, but not bad. It was a different flavour of the same brand, the diet version of the taste he'd long since acquired. It was what was necessary now, though, and he wouldn't complain. This Aoba, the other Aoba, whichever was available was good. They loved all parts of him.

He'd 'caught' him in the middle of a delivery, a 'chance encounter' or so he made it seem. He walked in step with him, long legs taking shorter strides to match speed just as he had all those years ago. It felt familiar, was a pattern he quickly adopted. Aoba was cheerful to-day, though he wasn't particularly moved when he explained why. All that mattered was how his lips curved at the corners and his eyes kept glazing slightly as they passed block after block. He was lovely when he was daydreaming.

Trip was terrible at small talk, so he defaulted to listening instead, soaking in as much of his companion's intoxicating aura as he could. It was a lighter aura than it had been, the pills he casually popped when his Coil beeped were different. Pills to contain the mind, not to free it. It didn't matter. Whatever pills made Aoba feel good were the pills he should take. He never stopped him before and he wouldn't do so now.

He loitered outside as the delivery boy made his drop, the lovely tone of his work-voice slipping out through the cracked door. He made a mental note to call sometime to order something, if only to hear how the tone shifted and persuaded. It would be nice to hear him use that voice for other purposes, making more meaningful entreaties and offers. Could he earn such a thing? It would be interesting to try.

They fell back into step after the delivery, though the blond wasn't particularly listening as they walked. The details of the receipt and the casual conversation mattered little in the scheme of things. Trip's eyes were scanning the carts wheeling themselves out onto the street, the food trucks beginning to bustle in the afternoon rush.

He'd offered easily. Money was never an issue. He ignored the protests, laced his fingers with his small companion's and tugged him along like a child toward them. He'd pushed him a little, just a little, insisting he could hear his stomach growling and that he might faint. He did offer to carry him if he felt too weak to go on, and it was that insinuation that pushed him to order. The threat of emasculation was a valid tool after all.

They walked and talked, or rather, Trip ate and Aoba talked, waving his food to emphasize whatever it was he was saying. The taller man was't really listening, even now, as he was far too busy watching the blue-haired boy's lips as he spoke. They were glistening slightly with grease and a single dollop of red-brown sauce rested just below his lower lip like a beauty mark.

Something about a new album release? Trip wasn't overly fond of his favourite band. Aoba had questionable taste in music, but then again, he thought the same of Virus. He didn't listen to much music, save for when he was writing formal reports and compiling data. Just something to drown out all else. Better than the static noise people spewed.

He'd dutifully listen when Aoba leaned close, extending his headphones to their maximum to fit over their heads at once. He could smell him at this range, the mint and tea-tree shampoo and matched conditioner that he used to keep his sensitive locks healthy. It suited him well. He wondered if he could feel his skin where it gently pressed against it. Did it feel good? Could it? He wanted to find out.

His Coil rang suddenly, interrupting the somewhat terribly tuned, off-key singer he was enduring. He glanced down, reading the name on the screen where it hovered discreetly by his wrist. It was Virus. Their date was over. With a quick swipe of his fingers, he sent an auto-response denial, stating he would call back momentarily. Aoba was leaning curiously, holding the headphones in his hand as he tried to spy on the exchange.

He apologized dully, expressing his gratitude for the time they had spent together. He leaned forward suddenly, steadying the boy with one hand as the other carefully held his remaining food aside. There was a ready excuse resting just below his lip, though he smeared it greedily as he moved in. His lips touched the sauce and dragged it toward Aoba's, the kiss taking him off guard.

He could feel him go rigid under his hand, knew he only had a few moments before he would react. His tongue slipped from his mouth, touching the sauce and trailing upward toward his companion's sweet lips. He dared inside for just a moment, tasting their delicious impromptu meal on his tongue, the lingering traces of an energy drink in his saliva and the unique taste of his mouth all around him.

Then he was walking away, licking lightly at the smile that had crossed his lips. He held up a single hand, uttering a standard 'bye-bye!' as he moved away. A few seconds later, he heard the sputtering call from Aoba, already fading into the ambient sound of the crowd. He listened for the sound of quickly approaching feet, but they never came.

He would take a few alleys to double-back, catching sight of the boy again from behind. He trailed at a distance, listening to the unintelligible sound of his outrage as he talked to his Allmate, the dog replying with something bland that did nothing to ease his distress. Trip imagined how red his face was and how cute he would look this flustered.

They parted ways a few streets down, Aoba heading back in the general direction of that dirty shop he worked in. The blond went the opposite direction, toward where he knew Virus was likely to be waiting for him. He'd explain, with sauce still at the corner of his own mouth, that he'd stopped for lunch. He dropped what was left of it in a bin as he passed it.

He knew Virus would do as he had.

He wondered if he would taste him on his tongue.


End file.
